Dream Talk

At breakfast I scribble in a notebook questions like: why do I feel like a duck-billed platypus has been nibbling at my brain all night? The I remember the billabong, the kookaburra and the ‘jolly swagman’ all of whom party-crashed my REM-sleep. I ask: "Did you dream in the night dear?" “Flamingo.” she says tersely. After a pause, “You ran-over my pet flamingo with that big stupid truck of yours.” I thoughtfully butter some toast. “It was the flying monkey’s” I replied weakly, “they made me do it”